


Dead Like Me

by Brate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherhood, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:31:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has a choice to make—save himself or save Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> Author's notes: set between "Hunted" and "All Hell Breaks Loose."

Sam woke up disoriented, trying to recall what had happened the night before. It wasn't unusual for the motel rooms they frequented to have strange smells, but the odor permeating the room had a faint medicinal smell to it. Rubbing his eyes, Sam looked over at the other bed, expecting to see his brother. Instead of Dean, there was a strange man…pointing a gun at Sam. 

Adrenalin shot through his veins, immediately clearing Sam's head. "Who the hell are you? Where's Dean?"

"Calm down. We need to have a little chat." 

Slowly, Sam edged his hand under his pillow, feeling for his weapon. 

"It's not there." 

The guy tapped the gun against his thigh as he said, "Got a call from an old friend of mine who asked for a favor. Said there was something evil that needed killing. Now this old friend of mine, I believe him. But the thing is, I'm not into killing humans and he told me this evil thing was disguising itself as a human. So I require a little proof. Because as much as I trust this friend, he tends to have tunnel vision when something gets him charged up."

Sam was listening, chest tight. He could probably guess, but still had to ask. "Who's your friend?"

"Gordon Walker."

Sam's heart dropped. "Okay, you want me, you got me. But my brother has nothing to do with this."

The hunter shook his head. "It's not that simple. I don't know that I need to kill you. As I said, I need proof."

"What kind of proof?"

"Well, since you boys were sleeping oh so peacefully with a little help from me, it gave me time to make some plans."

That explained the odd smell; they'd been drugged.

"If you check your left arm just above your elbow, you'll see a small pinprick."

Sam looked. _Oh, shit._

"I've injected you with a very specific poison." He checked his watch. "You should have just enough time to make it to your brother. But this doesn't leave you any time for a side trip to a hospital to find a cure. Even if they somehow managed to find one in time, your brother would be long dead."

Pushing the panic down, Sam struggled to pay attention. Dean was counting on him.

"Now I do have an antidote for this poison," the man said. "I can give it to you on one condition: you must choose to live."

"Okay, I choose to live." Sam was flippant because he knew this wouldn't be that easy. 

"Not that easy," the man unknowingly echoed his thoughts. "Your brother is the prize. I want to know whether you're willing to sacrifice him to save yourself. If you choose to save Dean, you are going to die. There isn't enough time to get to him and the antidote."

 _Innocent but dead_ —like a witch at the Salem trials, Sam thought.

"If you choose to save yourself, I'll tell you where to find the antidote and give you a twenty-four hour head start before I come after you."

Sam laughed emptily. " _That's_ your deal?"

"Better than you'll get from any of the other hunters; I can guarantee you that."

Unfortunately, Sam knew that to be true. But he wasn't willing to give in quite yet. "Where is Dean? How do I know he's still alive?" he almost choked on the words.

"I hired someone to take Dean where I needed him to be, and to stick around long enough to do this." His captor pulled out a cell phone and made a call. "Put him on," he ordered. He put it on speakerphone and held it out toward Sam.

Sam licked his lips. "Dean?"

"Sam?" came from the tiny speaker. "What the hell's going on?"

"Dean, you okay?"

"I'll be fine just as soon as I get untied and beat the crap outta this guy. What's going on?" he repeated. 

The man shook his head.

Sam said, "I'll see you soon."

The man put the phone to his ear and said, "Finish the set-up, and then take off." He hung up. "Satisfied?" he asked Sam.

"What do I do?" Sam growled.

Nodding approval, the hunter explained, "I've left instructions in the front seat of your car."

Sam looked into his eyes. The guy may be crazy, but he wasn't stupid. Sam was going to have to ride it out. He started to rise…

"Not so fast."

…before slumping back down.

"There are two sets of instructions. One tells you how to find your brother and one directs you to the antidote. It's your choice."

Curling a lip, Sam snapped, "There is no choice." He jerked his jeans up and tossed on a shirt. He slipped into his shoes before moving to the door. His hand was on the doorknob when the man spoke again.

"You'll need these."

Turning, Sam saw he was holding a set of keys—Dean's keys. Sam's heart stuttered, and it was a second before he remembered how to breathe. Then the anger overpowered the fear. Marching over, Sam snatched the ring from the stranger's hand and hurried outside.

~*~*~*~

Sam opened the car door and spotted his and Dean's duffels in the backseat. Seemed the crazy hunter had been nice enough to pack the car for his journey. 

He got in and found two envelopes on the seat beside him marked "A[ntidote]" and "B[rother]." _Ah, a sociopath with a sense of humor. How refreshing._ Sam tossed the "A" envelope in the back, and ripped open "B."

Inside was a piece of paper with an address and a map. Sam quickly scanned the map, started the car, and pulled out of the parking lot.

Sam drove as fast as he could, hoping he wouldn't be pulled over. There was a niggle of doubt whether or not he'd actually been poisoned, and more importantly, if the hunter had been lying about keeping Dean alive until Sam got there. Ten miles down the road, a faint twinge in his stomach answered the first question. Sam would have to rely on faith for the second one. He pushed the gas pedal down harder.

At the first cramp, Sam nearly ran off the road—he hadn't been prepared for its intensity. The second and third ones were no less painful, but at least they weren't entirely unexpected. Sam's hands clutched the wheel, turning his knuckles white. He hunched over and took some deep breaths letting the air slip in and out through his clenched teeth.

Time passed in a blur of pain until Sam looked down at the gas gauge and noticed it hovering over "E." He had to stop for fuel, though he hated to think of the time it would eat up. Maybe he should've stolen a hybrid instead. Probably could've made it the whole way without the need for a pit stop. Then he imagined Dean's expression if Sam "rode to his rescue" in a Prius. His laugh quickly turned into a groan as his stomach spasmed.

Sam pulled over into the next service station and filled the tank. He headed inside to pay, stepping aside at the last minute. Stumbling around the corner, he used one hand to brace himself against the wall, and the other he spread over his belly. He vomited violently, praying he didn't turn his insides out as he emptied his stomach. Finally, Sam shuddered through the dry heaves and spat to clear his mouth. 

He leaned against the wall, avoiding the mess he'd made. Sam allowed himself a precious few seconds to regroup. Then he forced his body to move.

Straightening up, Sam walked inside to complete his transaction. He stood in line behind one other customer and clenched his hands into fists to stop himself from grabbing the woman in front of him and tossing her to the side so he can pay and get back on the road. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam spotted a display of disposable cell phones. His phone as well as the extras they kept in the car had been missing when he'd checked. Sam stepped aside, grabbed one, and returned just as the woman finished. He slammed the phone on the counter and said, "Pump four."

Sam got back in the car, tore the phone from its packaging, and threw the trash on the floor. Dean would complain when he saw the mess, but it was likely Sam wouldn't be around to hear it. He got back on the road, intending to make up for lost time. 

As soon as the phone was activated, Sam dialed the familiar number. He blurted out the whole story as soon as Bobby picked up. "When I go, Dean won't react well," Sam finished. 

"Kid, that is the understatement of the year." 

Sam heard the unspoken _idjit_. "I need you to look out for him."

"Open the other envelope. I'll go get the antidote, and then you can look after your own damn brother."

"Bobby, I can barely focus on driving and talking to you, I can't dig around for an envelope, too."

"Then put down the damn phone or pull over."

"Go to hell," Sam snapped. "I'm not wasting time on it. Who knows if this guy was telling me the truth about how long he gave Dean?"

"Who knows if he was telling you the truth that he won't kill both of you?"

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."

Bobby muttered under his breath. Sam caught something about "stubborn Winchesters" and "martyrs" followed by a long silence. Sam wondered if he'd lost the call, and was about to check the phone. 

Finally, Bobby's gruff voice said, "Sam…?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll be here."

"Thanks, Bobby." Sam hung up. There was only one other person he needed to say good-bye to and Sam was heading straight toward him.

~*~*~*~

Letting his gaze drift to the seat, Sam checked the map again, making sure he was on track. He blinked to clear his blurred vision. Sweat dripped down his face, burning his eyes. He used his shirt collar to wipe it away, though it was pretty damn pointless as it was replaced almost immediately. 

By the time Sam got to the address where Dean was supposed to be, he was feeling pretty damn shitty. He pushed himself up out of the driver's seat, wavering for a moment, and grabbed the car door to steady himself. 

Crossing his arms on the Impala's roof, Sam laid his pounding head on them for a long moment. He didn't have time for weakness—he needed to find Dean. That was the only thing that mattered. He pushed aside his body's aches and concentrated on the warehouse in front of him. 

Sam went around the side, looking for a way in. He spotted a door and tested the knob—it was unlocked. Sam took a deep breath, ignored his trembling hands, and slowly opened the door. Once inside, he tried to be stealthy, but realistically he was probably as quiet as an elephant stampeding through the jungle.

Turned out there was no need for stealth. 

Dean sat in a small cage in the center of the open floor of the building, ropes in a tangle at his feet. It was just large enough for him to sit, but not to stretch out—or get out of the blast radius of the shotgun aimed straight at him. 

"Dean?" Sam called softly.

Dean whipped around, hand on one of the bars. "Sam?" 

"Are there any other traps?" Sam asked, not trusting his compromised instincts.

"Not that I've seen."

Sam nodded, moving swiftly to the weapon, wanting to neutralize it before attempting to free his brother. There was a wire looped through the trigger of the shotgun, and attached to a timer. Sam's eyes wouldn't behave for him to see how much time was left, but the mechanism was easily undone. On the table next to the timer was a key he hoped was for the cage door.

 _Pretty anticlimactic_ , Sam thought just before another spasm hit and he went down, hitting the pavement on his hands and knees.

"Sam? Sammy!" Dean called out, rattling the bars.

"Gimme a minute," Sam mumbled, lifting one finger in the air before letting it drop. When he couldn't seem to get his legs to work again, he slid the key across floor like a hockey puck then keeled over. 

Within ten seconds, his brother was at his side. "Sam?" Dean turned him over and put Sam's head on his leg. "What's wrong?"

Groaning, Sam said, "Poisoned."

"What? What the hell?"

Breathlessly panting, Sam tried to tell Dean as much of the story as he could. Before he could get far, Dean was cutting him off. 

"You idiot! What the hell did you come here for?"

With a pointed look at the disassembled weapon, Sam said, "What do you think?"

Dean growled, "I could've gotten out of there."

Sam laughed harshly, then curled up as his stomach twisted in a knot. "Yeah, you were… doing pretty well when I showed up."

Dean brushed Sam's hair off his face. His brother talked in soothing tones until the cramps lightened enough to allow Sam to concentrate again.

"We need to get you to the hospital." Dean started to pull Sam up.

Sam resisted, shaking his head. "It won't do any good."

"Shut up. You're going." Dean grabbed one of Sam's arms, pulling it over his shoulders. 

Sam stayed hunched over, clutching his stomach with his free arm. He made it two steps before his legs gave out, dropping both brothers to the ground. 

"Sammy, come on." Dean pulled Sam against him, looping an arm around Sam's chest.

Sam shook his head. His blood was on fire, and the roaring in his ears was virtually drowning out Dean's pleas. "I can't," he whispered.

"Sam, goddammit. I'm going to drag you by the hair if you don't get up."

Sam grabbed his brother's hand in his own. It showed just how scared Dean was that he let him. "Totally…worth it."

He could tell unconsciousness was on its way; the edges of his vision had already begun to waver and darken. Everything started to fade, even Dean's voice, alternating between pleading and cursing. Sam just wanted to let go. He'd done what he needed to do; his brother was safe.

Suddenly, Dean's hand was ripped from his and Sam fell to the floor. Sounds of a fight trickled into his brain, and Sam summoned the last of his strength to open his eyes. He saw Dean whaling on the man who had been in his hotel room—the hunter who'd poisoned him. 

Seconds later, the man was on the ground, shotgun against his head, and Dean's finger on the trigger. 

"Dean," Sam shouted with barely a sound. 

Somehow Dean heard. He looked over.

"Don't," Sam breathed.

Dean's grip on the weapon tightened and the hunter flinched as it was thrust harder against his skull. "He killed you, Sammy," Dean said.

Sam mouthed, _Please_. 

And waited.

With a snarled curse, Dean threw the gun across the floor and shoved the man away. "You're lucky my brother is a better person than I am. Get out of here before I decide to finish you off anyway." Dean walked over and sat next to Sam. He pulled his brother up and gently rocked him. 

Sam fought the urge to pat Dean. He didn't have to fight it too hard, since his arms no longer seemed to be working.

The hunter reached into his jacket pocket, pulled something out, and held it up. Sam recognized the unopened "B" envelope. The guy must have found it in the back of the Impala.

"You didn't even look to see where it was," he said with surprise in his voice. "Maybe send someone else after it."

"Didn't know if it was…a trick," Sam rasped, head resting on Dean's chest. "Wasn't…wasn't gonna…risk his life."

The hunter looked between them. "Looks like Gordon was wrong, after all." He pulled out something else and tossed at them. Dean caught it automatically. Then the man turned and walked out of the warehouse.

One-handed, Dean opened the box to find a vial and syringe inside. "The antidote?" Dean asked, clearly not sure if he should trust it.

"'m already dead," Sam said. "What've we…got to lose?"

With a shaky nod, Dean laid Sam on the floor and rolled up one of his sleeves. He found a vein and injected the contents of the vial.

Sam felt warmth flow through him. The low burning in his blood flared brighter, like a flash of magnesium. Sam choked on a scream before letting the fire consume him. 

~*~*~*~

Sam woke up slowly. His entire body ached, and he was starting to wonder if Dean had made good on one of his threats and actually run him over with the Impala. Maybe they had a drinking contest? Sam always regretted those.

The memory slammed back and he jerked up, looking for Dean. His brother was sitting on the opposite bed, watching him. 

"So it was an antidote," Sam said rather obviously.

"Looks like," Dean answered. 

Sam winced at Dean's rough voice. "How long?"

"Too long." Dean looked away. He went to the bathroom and Sam heard water running. Dean came back with a glass.

Sam gulped it down, Dean helping him to hold it when his hands shook.

"I called Bobby. Let him know," Dean said when Sam was finished.

"Oh," was Sam's brilliant response. There would be no repercussions or retribution. They all knew they couldn't afford to put the word out against the hunter, not without exposing Sam to too many questions. 

Sam was finding it hard to hang onto a single thought; his brain was like pudding. But he did wonder, "What happens if the next guy believes Gordon?" 

Dean shrugged. "We'll deal with that if it happens." His expression darkened. "However, I will personally kick your ass if you ever do something like this again."

Instead of being intimidated, Sam laughed. He laid his head down and closed his eyes. "Like you wouldn't have done the same damn thing," he mumbled.

"That's different."

"Is not." Sam's yawn undercut his argument.

Dean sighed. "Go to sleep. I'll yell at you some more when you wake up."

"Hmmm." Snuggling into his pillow, Sam drifted off, knowing he'd made the right choice. And he would do it again in a heartbeat.


End file.
